An excercise in dramatic story telling

holy crap, i just got robbed.
(literary technique #2371, catch the reader's attention with a flashy opening. CHECK)

It had been a week filled with fun, friends, and fiestas. (literary techniques #174 and #895, alliteration, flashback. CHECK) In celebration of Semana Novata Molly and I went out every night this week -- from Tuesday to tonight. Tuesday we went to an asado with our friends we met in the bus last week, then accompanied them to a massive beach party with live music. Wednesday we finally managed to get into Huevo, Thursday we went straight from class in the morning to a MASSIVE party -- when i say massive, I mean 20,000 people -- on a beach north of town. I still don't fully understand the appeal of these large beach parties, seeing as how the same sitting around sipping on beverages and playing instruments in a circle with friends could happen anywhere. It was fine though, with the exception of the hour Molly and I spent waiting in line for a bathroom. We came home, ate, napped, then went out again to Huevo, where we made friends with a trio of bomberos and their friend, Katy -- who is studying social work here in Valpo. Dancing with them was very refreshing because they were just a silly group of friends -- like my friends back home. Friday (yesterday) we slept in, thought we were going to leave for Santiago that afternoon, but that ended up not happening so we had friends over to my house to watch a movie and eat homemade kuchen instead. It was truly lovely. We saw our friends Francisco and Marco, who we hadn't seen in a while, and it was nice to have the feeling of seeing old friends who we had missed, even though we've only known them for such a brief while. They're great guys and we are very VERY blessed to be friends with them.

Today was a lazy day that I wasn't sure what to do with, since I had been planning on spending the day in Fantasilandia. I finally forced myself to get out of my pj's and go outside, and much to my surprise it was sunny and lovely out. (It's autumn here, and the chilled ocean air seeps under my skin so that my very bones are cold, even when it's only 50 degrees or so, and the sun seems to have begun its hibernation) So,I walked along the beach for a while, eventually picking a nice spot in the white sand to watch the waves and write in my journal. After 45 minutes or so, I thought I felt my purse move, so I turned around to look. It was strapped over my shoulder and resting on the ground at my side, and when I looked inside the camera was nowhere to be found. I hastily checked my pockets, my lap, my other pockets, my purse again, and it was gone. A couple was walking by behind me, and a nod and twitch of the eyebrow from an observing fisherman informed me that they had taken it. I ran up to them and asked if they saw someone take my camera -- although how I expected them to respond, I'm not sure. "Oh yeah, I have it in my pocket. Do you want it back? My bad." No, on the contrary he told me some little kid took it and that he tried to warn me, but the kid put a knife to his throat so he couldn't. He pointed me in the direction that the kid supposedly ran, and in my state of shock I kind of believed him for a minute. Until I saw the fisherman again, and he walked towards me and told me that it had been the man I was talking to who took the camera, and that he put it in the sand. Four carabineros (policemen) were approaching on horseback, so we rushed towards them in hopes that they might have better luck. They trotted after the theif, and I watched as they searched his bag, his pockets, and his girlfriend. Nothing. I kept giving him dirty looks, hoping that perhaps they might pierce his heart and make him confess, but it was to no avail. The carabineros attempted to look in the sand around the area where I had been sitting and where they had been walking, but found nothing, and the theif continued saying he was innocent. Some more carabineros came after a while with their sirens going, and one of them came to assess the situation, then explain to me what we could do. I could have filed some kind of appeal or something, but chances are it wouldn't go through until after I left anyhow, and I would very likely never get the camera back. I gave him my info, and he drove away with the guilty couple in the back of the van to take their information back at the station. Molly came and met me at the beach so we could dig around the sand for the missing camera, but we found nothing. There was simply too much sand. I finally accepted defeat, sighing with the comfort of knowing that it is, in fact, only a thing. God had his arm around my shoulders, walking me back to the pathway to dust myself off and keep on keepin' on. However, after walking for 10 minutes or so, we passed the guilty couple walking back from the other direction. I stopped and talked to them and he gave me the same old story, and I wished I was gutsy enough to shout "I KNOW YOU TOOK IT! I KNOW ITS IN THE SAND! DON'T LIE TO ME!!!" But instead I told him I was sorry. But instead of keeping on, Molly and I turned around the follwed them back, hoping to witness them dig the camera out of the sand. We had to run to keep up, while at the same time dodging behind small children and sunglasses huts so they wouldn't see us, and sure enough they turned off the path at the spot where it all happened. I hid out behind a grass-roofed hut, watching from around the corner as they kicked around in the sand. I'm not sure if they found it in the sand, got it from some people who were playing volleyball nearby, or if it wasn't there afterall -- I couldn't see well enough from my hide-out and, once again, I wasn't gutsy enough to appraoch them. After all, what would I say? Remember what happened last time I asked if he robbed me? All the same, it was a terrible feeling to watch them hop on a bus and ride away into the distance, knowing that they had just stolen my camera right from under my nose. Fortunately, the last pictures I had taken were of the word "LOVE" written in the sand. Maybe that will touch their hearts -- even if just a little bit. (literary techniqe #2873, hope of redemption following tragic ending)

So, thus ends the saga of the stolen camera.

Still, worse things could have happened, Nobody was hurt, and all the pictures (except, of course, the ones I had taken today) were already uploaded onto my computer. And God is good.